For Love of A Bear
by Rosmund Chadwick
Summary: Girl falls in Middle Earth. Meets Beorn. Done a million and one times. Wanna give it a shot?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'The Hobbit' 'The Lord of the Rings' or any of Tolkiens characters…..I just love to play in his world.**

 **No money was made off of this fic.**

 **Also, for my readers; I HAVE HAD NO INTERNET FOR MONTHS:…I am posting this at my Mums house.**

 **PROLOGUE:**

 **Lost**

Wet.

Cold.

Hungry.

She was wet and cold and hungry, not to mention lost. Her Transformers baseball cap did little to keep the rain off of her face, what with the way the wind was blowing and, as such, her glasses were so wet she could barely see!

` _I should have come across_ _ **SOME**_ _kind of road or house by now!`_ The twenty-year old thought to herself, both in surprise and a very large dose of panic. _`I've_ _ **ALWAYS**_ _hit a road by now. How on EARTH did I get this lost!`_

The day had started out wonderfully enough. It was one of her days off, after all, so she had packed up her books and journals and pens ( _as well as a first-aide kit, emergency snacks, and her camel water-pouch_ ) and headed to her sanctuary; the woods.

It was just a little patch of forest surrounded by civilization that had yet to be built on and, in it, she found a measure of peace. There were no loud noises to hurt her ears and startle her and no people to stare at her strangely and make her wonder just what social rule she had managed to break; just bird-song, and wind-in-the-leaves, and rest.

As always, she had kept a list of the animals she found ( _one buck, four does, three chipmunks, one woodpecker and a very disgruntled looking raccoon_ ) as well as the flowers she found ( _Oxe-Eye Daisy, Smooth Solomons Seal, Queen Annes Lace, red and white clover_ ) and had settled down under one of her favorite trees to read some of her beloved books. Then it had started to rain.

At first, she hadn't panicked; she'd simply gathered her things and headed for home; the problem was she STILL wasn't home and that just wasn't RIGHT!

When she had reached the clearing that was when she had REALLY panicked. That clearing was NOT supposed to BE THERE.

She had considered turning around and attempting to backtrack, but decided against it, pushing on.

And now she, Cassie Marie Andrews, was wet and cold and hungry…..and lost.


	2. The River

**AN: Short, I know. Bear with me, please. These are just the...introductory chapters.**

 **CHAPTER ONE:**

 **The River**

When she found the river, that was when her panic nearly overtook her. The rain and the wind had whipped the moving water into a frothing frenzy, the roaring hurting her ears so badly that she barely heard the meow.

Later—much _MUCH_ later—she would decide that it had been fate (or the will of the Valar) that allowed her to hear that tiny, panicked mew, and she saw it.

It was a Maine Coon, like her own cat Sweetie-Pie at home, and it was being washed down the river like just another piece of jetsam in the debris. It struggled to keep its furry face out of the water, pawing frantically at the rapids, but it was such a little kitten in such a very big river.

Part of her brain ( _that sounded like her Father_ ) screamed at her that what she was about to do was **_VERY_** very stupid; that the cat was as good as dead, and she risked becoming the same way if she tried to help it.

` _Cassie Marie Andrews_ ` the beloved voice rang in her ears ` _Don't you even THINK of getting anywhere NEAR that water! It'd pull you under quicker than you could blink!`_

The other—and much louder—part of her screamed that she should at least TRY.

That was when she noticed the fallen tree.

It was a huge, old and stately oak that had finally given in and toppled over in the storm, its top branches still adorned with leaves. The gigantic old thing spanned the entire river, making a kind of bridge, even though the angry, muddy water nearly reached it, threatening to wash it away.

The kitten was barreling towards the fallen tree…..

….so did she.

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Running had NEVER been her strong point; just a few yards generally had her panting 'Uncle' but another life was a great motivator.

On her hands and knees, she scrambled onto the oak, grateful beyond measure for the texture of the trees bark that made it easier for her to grip and find some traction.

Taking a deep breath, she began a weird sort of scoot/crawl over the bark. Glancing to her side, she tried to measure the distance between herself and the drowning cat.

Close…..

Closer….

Closer…..NOW!

She reached out, rejoicing when her fingers grasped wet fur….and that was when she slipped.


	3. The Finding

**CHAPTER TWO:**

 **Beorns Finding**

 **AN: I'm kind of taking artistic license with Beorns past, here. How he escaped and was found all came from my head, though the idea of him being used for sport by orcs comes from either Tolkien or Peter Jackson. Lol.**

 **Me no own.**

 **You no sue.**

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 **BEORN**

The skin-changer wasn't very fond of the rain.

Oh, he understood the necessity of it; without the rain the grass and trees and his precious plants would wither and die which would, in turn, cause his animals…..no, his family….and himself to die. But just because he understood and appreciated the rain, didn't mean he **_liked_** it.

.

For one thing, the wet hindered his ability to smell, even in bear-form, which was a sensory deprivation he despised. For two, the rain washed away tracks and trails, making it more difficult to hunt orcs.

Orcs.

.

Even the name of the foul creatures brought a snarl to his face. Cruel, evil, rancid beings with nothing in their hearts but malice. He remembered all too well the cage he had been forced in in the fighting pits; made to sit in his own filth as the spawn of Melkor taunted and tortured him; burning him with hot rods of steel and dancing away before he could claw at them, releasing him only to make him fight for sport.

.

It sickened him how he had begun to yearn for those times out of his cage where he could release the anger he held and tear into orc and warg flesh. Sometimes he barely remembered his human-like self, lost in a beserker blood-rage….but that was how he had escaped.

.

They had let him loose in the pits to fight, only that time it hadn't been wargs or orcs or great Gundabad bats that they had wanted him to fight; it had been another prisoner; a man, though he didn't know where they had kept him for it had been the first time he had seen him.

For the first time, Beorn had refused to fight.

.

That was when the orcs had goaded him, bringing out the whip and the hot irons, the steel and the scimitars, and that was when his beserker rage had overtaken him.

.

To this day, his escape was still hazy. He only remembered the bitter taste of orc blood in his mouth, the pain of his wounds, and the fire of his anger.

.

He didn't know how he fled the pits or how many days he had run, he only remembered coming to his senses tired and hungry and in pain by a stream where Radaghast the Brown had found him.

Seeing his pain and the chains and sensing in some wizard-way that this was no ordinary bear, Radaghast had healed him ( _which he would have done even if he had been just a regular injured bear, being a friend to all animals_ ) and had nearly gotten his head bitten off in the process.

.

Still, when he had come to his senses, Beorn had been grateful and apologetic to the brown wizard, who had offered him a place to stay while he healed.

.

Still reeling from the horrors he had experienced and just newly in his right mind, Beorn had declined the accommodations, needing solitude and time.

He had wandered off into the woods, living off of plants and fish in his bear-form and jumping at every little noise, ready to attack. ( _Had she known him then, Cassie could have told him that he had PTSD, post-traumatic-stress-disorder, but he had been just a story in her world and she not even a thought in his.)_

.

Then he had met Duke.

The grey wolf-hound had been injured by some careless hunters arrow, limping and whining from where it had pierced his hind leg. At first, the scent of blood had triggered him into seeing red, but Dukes whimpers of pain had calmed him, making him realize that he was not back in the fighting pits. He had soothed the dog and removed the arrow, binding the wound with herbs and leaves and communicating in the way of skin-changers.

When he had healed, Duke followed him, now his faithful friend then, later, as good as family.

.

Numerous minor adventures led to his meeting other animals ( _some injured, some not, some on the run, others looking for a home_ ) and eventually they had all come to the Carrock where he decided to build his home.

.

Years had passed and, though his nightmares and memories still came, he found a measure of peace caring for his animals, starting a hive of bees and furnishing his home, which he defended fiercely.

Regular patrols kept the orcs from his lands and those he found he killed viciously, ripping them to pieces and posting their heads outside his lands…..he would **_NOT_** be captured again.

It was when he came to the Great River that bordered his lands that he saw the woman running along the bank.

.

For a moment he paused in shock as he watched the woman begin to crawl across the fallen tree, wondering what madness she suffered from to make her attempt to cross the river. Then he saw the cat fighting to keep it's head above water, hurtling towards the tree. Saw the woman reach…..

….saw her fall in.


End file.
